


Travis Makes Fermented Citrus | It’s Alive | Bon Appétit

by grainyangel



Series: It's Alive With Travis Konecny [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU where TK is Brad and Nopat mans the camera, Absolutely nothing is resolved, Alternate Universe - Bon Appétit, Gen, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, content warning for Brad-speak, unresolved SOMETHING, we can call it romantic tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-09 21:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20516360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grainyangel/pseuds/grainyangel
Summary: “Hey guys, today on It’s Alive we’re doin a little fermented citrus, a little lacto-fermented citrus. It’s kind of a riff on, like, a preserved lemon, preserved citrus kinda thing, packed in salt where it get kinda– y’know.” He grabs a handful of little orange fruits out of a large sieve in the corner of the frame, “we’re gonna be foolin’ around with a few different types, real simple process, little bit of salt, vacuum bag, room temperature, controlled rot, let‘s get goin’.” Travis talks with his hands. With his whole body really, shifting his weight, gesturing, grabbing whatever’s in front of him, picking things up and putting them down.-Alternate universe where Vinnie still works for Bon Appétit and operates the camera and by Vinnie I mean Nolan Patrick, even though I guess Vinnie works somewhere else now or something and some guy named Matt Hunziker or something like that mans the camera now, except not in this universe he doesn’t. Travis who is Brad does what Brad meaning Travis does.In short: TK=Brad Nopat=VinnieShorter still: Nolan's well and truly Going Through It, as they say





	Travis Makes Fermented Citrus | It’s Alive | Bon Appétit

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I can do what I want
> 
> 2\. Before you ask if I really sat down and transcribed the entire video, yes (some people transcribe to cope! Etc.)
> 
> 3\. Just when you thought the author couldn’t go to Jupiter to get more stupider
> 
> 4\. I know I've made choices and I take full responsibility for my actions
> 
> 5\. Thanks 2 my friends for the encouragement and thanks especially to jolach, I think u know what you did
> 
> alternate title: YOU CAN'T REPRESS IF YOU'RE TOO COOL TO HAVE A CRUSH IN THE FIRST PLACE

With everything set up and ready to go, they’re pretty much good to start rolling. Nolan’s just waiting for word from the producer to hoist the camera and point it at Travis who’s at his station, in motion as always, shifting, pacing, never standing still for one single goddamn moment of his life. He’s fiddling with his mic, with the pen he’s stuck on his apron. The test kitchen is empty apart from the team for this video, Jake at his own station with his laptop, and Carter Hart shuffling around in the back doing something Nolan forgot to pay attention to when they came in earlier.

TK’s in a hoodie, it’s mustard yellow and it’s terrible. He’s got his black beanie on too, keeping his hair back. It’s getting long, Travis’ hair, keeps falling in his face when he hasn’t got a hat on. For a while now he’s been sporting an awful little beard, if you can even call it that. He’s tan even though it’s spring. He’s always so fucking tan.

“Eh, Patty,” Travis says leaning against the counter, nodding his chin at Nolan, “you look good today, bud, too bad you’re not the one camera” Nolan huffs a laugh, going for disinterested and hoping TK doesn’t notice how poorly he pulls it off. Travis goes on “with your hair and your everything…” 

TK looks thoughtful for a second, reaching up in a declarative gesture, clears his throat, stopping, “alright-we’ll-do-a-little-intro” he says it like it’s one word, looking at Nolan over the top of the camera. He leans on the counter trying to think of something funny or clever or both, no doubt, “I was gonna say Goin’ Places” he says with a little laugh before clearing his throat again, “I’on even ‘member how we do these” and a goofy laugh. Travis’ laugh is so fucking goofy. “Aight, here we go, action!” 

The trick, Nolan had learned, is to find the fine balance between paying attention and zoning out. Seeing everything he needs to see without seeing too much. Focusing without getting carried away. This goes for most camera work, but more than anything it goes for filming Travis Konecny. He’s all over the place, and there’s so much to see, to look at him too closely is asking for trouble. Nolan’s glad for the barrier that the camera provides, this feels safer. 

TK is ready to go. Looking directly into the camera he begins, “Hey guys, today on It’s Alive we’re doin a little fermented citrus, a little lacto-fermented citrus. It’s kind of a riff on, like, a preserved lemon, preserved citrus kinda thing, packed in salt where it get kinda– y’know.” He grabs a handful of little orange fruits out of a large sieve in the corner of the frame, “we’re gonna be foolin’ around with a few different types, real simple process, little bit of salt, vacuum bag, room temperature, controlled rot, let‘s get goin’.” Travis talks with his hands. With his whole body really, shifting his weight, gesturing, grabbing whatever’s in front of him, picking things up and putting them down.

“Oh that’s disgusting,” Travis has found some gunk or something in the vacuum seal machine, he opens the top of the machine and removes the offending part and goes over to the sink to clean it. “What is that? Who– who used this? Anybody know who– That’s nasty? Alrighty. Give that a little rinsy-poo.” _Rinsy-poo_, Travis is so incredibly embarrassing, and earnestly so, too, it gives Nolan vertigo to think about, but he can’t afford to go through that again right now while he’s working, so he thinks about something else instead and keeps the camera steady. “You know you gotta take care a yer tools, man. I don’ care what it is, if it’s a pencil, or a vacuum sealer, or a printing press,” Travis raises his voice for emphasis, “you gotta take care a yer tools, man.” 

With a look over each shoulder TK says “I talk to myself a lot,” with a high, little laugh. He’s still cleaning the part from the machine. “And being in front of the camera is just really kinda therapy for me,” he finishes, turns the water off, gets a rag to dry the part off, “get a lot a talkin done, lotta thinkin out– a lot of thinkin out, itsn’t that talking?” another high goofy laugh, he’s fitting the part back into the machine. “Get a lot of thinkin out!” He laughs more. Always laughing. There’s always something to laugh at. Nolan isn’t sure how Travis does it. “I like that, I’m gonna use that from now on instead a talkin’. You know what Kev’s really good at? Getting’ a lot of thinkin’ out.”

“That’s rich,” Nolan says. He can’t help himself. Behind him he hears a producer snicker, and he smirks. He’s looking into the viewfinder and not meeting TK’s eye directly. 

“Hey,” TK protests, “you’re not supposed to be talkin’, keep your thinkin’ in!” 

Nolan watches Travis try to regain his composure. 

“Okay,” TK says, or maybe “alright,” Nolan honestly isn’t sure. Travis makes like he suddenly remembers something important, as if he hasn’t already gone and fetched the jar from over on the fermentation station and put it on the counter in frame. “Oh, before we get–” he picks up a chopstick from the countertop, he waves it like a wand, “before we get going I gotta little bone to pick, with– with, uh, Lawson. Crouse. That kooky guy,” he picks up the jar and puts it down on his cutting board. It’s got a cloth over it, and over that, some plastic. “He uh, we-uh, he was all fired up about this, um, fermentation experiment, and he, it was cool, I was into it too, I was like yeah, I like this, but he did it, and he put it in this jar and we– we popped it over in the fermentation station and boy oh boy he forgot about it. I went over there today and I was like wuh– I forgot about it, it’s been, I mean, weeks, if not, maybe a month or two. Yeah, I looked in there, man, and it went rogue. It’s gone– it’s gone bio-warfare on us. I’m not gonna clean it but I wanted to– I wanted to call him out. On It’s Alive. I ain’t openin’ it. No, this a sealed unit, bud. Nuh-uh-uh. You trust me, no one wants to– you go in there, I mean, I might get spores in the face.” 

Nolan comes around with the camera to look into the glass jar, TK points with the chopstick that he’s still holding. 

“Look, I left a little peep view. That ain’t supposed to be there, this ain’t– this ain’t some weird scoby.” Travis picks up the jar again and carries it away to another counter, getting it out of the frame and out of the way, “just because it’s controlled rot doesn’t mean you need to neglect it.” He puts the jar down on the other counter and does a little nod. “Oh, ugh, a little bit came out there, that was disgusting,” He says when he moves it with a bit more force than he intended and the liquid inside slushes. “Oh that’s nasty, hope that doesn’t burn my skin or anything like that, heh. Don’t even– I don’t even– Right.” He rinses his hands at the sink and dries them off on his apron before he gets back to the counter. 

Travis claps and shakes out his hands. He gets himself sorted and arranges bowls and things like he wants them and then he’s ready to continue.

“We’re gonna do some kumquats. And this is all by weight, if you gotta get– if you don’t have yourself a little digital scale– is a fantastic tool to invest in. I like to do things by grams, y’know, real precise. Is just the way it should be. Y’know. Don’t get me started.” He fiddles with the scales, with the bowl he’s placed on it, shifts it to read the little display. “Wh– what’s that? Two-thirty? Forty, two-forty-eight, aight, we’ll call that, uh, I’ll take a small one out and put a big one in, two-fifty! Remember that,” he looks about himself and goes off searching for something to write it down on. 

He finds a little notepad on a shelf out of frame and pulls the pen from his apron. Writes down the number. 

Nolan zooms and closes in on Jake Voracek who’s still in front of his laptop. Jake often has good reactions to stuff Nolan doesn’t even notice so it’s always good to get footage of him for the editors to throw in, especially when Travis gets distracted and wanders off. 

TK is speaking to Kevin Hayes out of frame, “thought you were leavin’, Hayesy?” and Kevin says something that Nolan doesn’t hear. They have some short conversation. Nolan doesn’t put the camera on Travis for it, he hopes he’s not missing anything major. 

TK returns to the station, picks up what Travis likes to refer to as a knife but which looks more to Nolan like a cleaver, “alright, kumquats. First move– oh, you like that, right?” Travis holds the blade up. “That’s the new– that’s the new Big Boy, look at that badass, eh. Yeah, the Big Boy. Is the upgraded version of the original, I still got that one, I’ll never let go of that knife I love that knife, but here’s a little more, a little high performance model, y’know, zing–zang, baby.” Travis seems to remember what this episode is actually supposed to be about. “Nice kumquats. And I’m gonna half ‘em.” TK’s grip on the cleaver is firm, each cut clean. “Then we’re gonna take, uh, then we’re gonna take the seeds out.” 

The director asks what TK’s got there. 

“This is just like a fancy, uh, chopstick, like a plating chopstick. It’s actually Voracek’s. I borrowed it. Without asking. Jake, you mind if I use your little chopstick?” He giggles in that goofy way. 

“It’s all good, buddy,” Jake says. 

Nolan shifts with the camera to get a better angle for the shot.

“Hey, huh, when you’re in the light like that your hair looks kind of red-ish,” TK says and Nolan realizes that TK’s looking right at him. Nolan doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He is in that moment glad nonetheless that he isn’t the one wearing a mic. 

“Yeah, so,” Travis continues, “I just use that to poke in there, y’know, ya try to, get the little obvious ones. Boom, see ya. Pyoom. They have a silly name. Kumquat. Who thought a that. _Oh y’know what that looks like? A kumquat._” Again with the stupid laugh. “What the fuck.” He rolls his shoulders. “Getting a little warm in here. Just me? Heh.” 

Travis is distracted by something, some sound maybe, that’ll often do it. He looks around him, turns a hundred and eighty degrees. “Where is everybody? Nobody felt like comin’ in today?” 

Gesturing around the test kitchen, he announces to the camera: “Carter Hart showed up to work today, I dunno where the hell everyone else is. Kev. You came in late, you’re leavin’ early.” 

Hayes responds, “yeah,” without an ounce of shame.

“Yeah,” TK laughs with him. 

“Livin’ the life,” Kevin calls.

“Living the life, man, that test kitchen manager life.” Travis laughs a little at his own joke, if it was even supposed to be a joke. Probably was. Usually is with TK. “Yeah, well, y’know, Hayesy got in here, y’know, he’s done a great job, he got rid of a lot of stuff that I’ve been hoarding for years. And– but he reorganized a lotta things and I don’t know where the hell anything is anymore.” 

Over his shoulder, to Kevin, “I’m saying how ya hid everything. Like, oh! The juicer’s, the citrus juicers were here, now let’s put–” 

Nolan has watched every single final video in the series. Travis doesn’t know this and he never will. But it’s not just because of him, it’s also because they’re genuinely funny. The have an absolutely killer production team at BA, from producers and directors to editors, and the videos they produce are quality content. And Nolan likes to have a sense of what they keep in and what they cut out, what they like, where they add digital zooms, et cetera. He likes to see the final product, it’s like the tasting the bread someone made with the flour from the wheat he harvested or some shit like that. It’s really cool. 

And there’s Travis. But that’s like, secondary.

“–nah. Alright, yeah, so the blood orange. The _blood orange_, I nip off the tops, looka that bad boy, it’s a beaut. Let’s get a weight on that bad boy. One-forty-six, let’s just say one-fifty, what the hell.” 

As Travis makes notes and shifts pieces of fruit around in bowls, Nolan keeps his eye on Travis’ hands through the viewfinder. For how much of a wiggly bastard Travis is, he’s got steady hands. Good hands. Or they’re fine. Whatever.

“And then we just do a little slicy-slice, a little ringy-ring. I’ve never done the blood orange one before. We’re gonna learn together if this one’s – _oh, Trav, what’re you doin? Oh, no, you got it_ – if this’ll work out. we’ll see how it reacts, y’know. This might kinda fall apart and get weird just because-a how much, like, segment there is, how much water content, juices in there. An–meh–buh–but that’s cool, can use the liquid too. Let’s get away– should do… yeah let’s do limes.” Cut. “two-twenty, on _ze lime_. And let’s do, y’know, what the hell, we’ll do– we’ll do a little Meyer lemons as well, we’ll do three Meyer lemons too.” He cuts up the lemons. 

If Nolan’s being honest he has absolutely no idea what makes these particular lemons so special and divisive. Not that he’d mention that to TK. Travis would tell him if Nolan asked, but he’d be unbearably smug about it. Ignorance is preferable. 

“I like Meyer lemons, y’know, they’re beautiful, _A_,” Travis begins and then follows up by saying something completely unintelligible and Nolan does not envy the editor whose lap this footage ends up in, “–gorgeous, but uh, a lot– some people think– I get it– they can get that, like, medicinal-y, cleaner product _aroma_, if you would. Voracek, you wa– you like Meyer lemons?”

“Yeah, I love ‘em,” Jake says.

“Yeah, right?” TK agrees.

“I don’t understand what the big issue is,” Jake says.

Carter Hart chimes in, “I love them too!”

Someone behind them asks, “people don’t like Meyer lemons?”

“They’re out there!” TK says. “Probably Ghost.”

“They walk among us,” Jake adds.

“I can’t see Ghost liking a Meyer lemon,” TK says, as he puts pieces of fruit into the bowl sitting on the scales currently. “OH!” He exclaims, making at least one producer jump. “Three-hundred on the DOT! Fuck yeah, alright.”

He pauses and looks about for a second like he forgot what the next step is supposed to be.

“Right, uh. Can I have my phone, puh-lease?” 

Usually during filming he’ll hand off his phone for a producer to hold. Someone hands it over and Travis clears his board and lays it there. Opens the calculator app. 

“The reason we wrote down our weights is because we’re gonna add two percent salt by weight. So say this is two-hundred-and-fifty grams. That’s probably easy, nuh–uh, easy number. Two-hundred-and-fifty times point zero two. Five grams. Salt. Alright flying right through this. One-fifty times point. Zero. Two. That’s like one of the only things I remember from math class in school, is how to find percentages of numbers. It’s fuckin great. Oh shit. One-fifty times. Point. Zero. Two. Three grams. Boom. Alright. We’re flyin’. Two-two I feel like I’m flyin’ through a test. You know when you– ye-yuh-you-prolly-you-gotta, a lot a you probably feel-feel-feel or felt this way often but– but I didn’t. When you were taking a test and you were like, you knew the fu– you knew the answers and you were like _yeah, that fucker’s A, yeah, it’s a B I’m a hundred percent sure,_ and you like feel good you’re all pepped up and not depressed after you take the test. Wasn’t often.” 

Nolan doesn’t know a single person in the world who has energy like TK, who can ramble like TK. He is pretty sure many people feel that way about him. Several people in their place of work alone. With a note from the director, Nolan points the camera and zooms in on Jake Voracek who has a massive grin on his face.

“You are _back!_” Jake declares with a slow clap.

“WOO,” Travis hoots, full of energy.

“Woo. Slow clap.”

“Now whaddaya mean slow clap?” Travis asks like he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be offended or not.

“Like an ‘80s slow clap–” Jake explains.

“Oh, what are we beatniks now?” Travis ask and starts snapping rhythmically.

“–and then it like picks up like You fucking Can’t Buy Me Love” he begins demonstrating, “let’s get the rights so we can play that clip.”

TK laughs. Goofily. Obviously.

“You know what I’m talking about–”  
“Two of us–” Travis says.

“–everyone was born in the ‘90s,” Jake complains.

TK laughs again, almost hysterically this time. “I was born in ‘97, sir,” he says.

“Oh my god, TK,” Jake says. “I was born in ‘89. You guys don’t know.”

“No big d– I was in the 4th grade when you were a senior.”

“I was born in ’98,” Carter says.

“_Boom_,” TK says.

“You know Can’t Buy Me Love?” Jake asks again. “Slow clap? After he gives his speech?”

“Slow clap my ass. What? What? Alright, here we go” he giggles “_OLD MAN VORACEK_”

“Hold on,” Jake says. “I’m pulling it up.”

“Oh, please do. OKAY. Kumquats.” Travis makes more notes on his little paper. Pouring salt from one bowl to another. “Five grams. Boom. Let that hang out. Next trick. Three grams. OOH, NAILED it. That was a three-gram pinch! Tha– that right there is what you call a three-gram pinch!”

“First of all,” Jake says when comes over with his laptop on his arm “is this guy Brian Bosworth? Hold on, I’m gonna show you. Not that ad–”

“Jesus Christ,” TK says like he has any right to be the exasperated one.

“This is important!” Jake says.

“It’s not even in color!”

Jake: “Is that Brian Bosworth?” Jake asks once more, and Nolan’s willing to bet cash TK has no idea who Brain Bosworth is.  
“I don’t know who Brian Bosworth is,” TK says.

“Stone…?” Jake tries.

“Stone?”

“I’m very disappointed,” Jake says, and he doesn’t shake his head, but the headshake is heavily implied. “No no no– he’s about to get into a fight–”

“This looks like a good movie!” TK says then, looking at the screen. Nolan, and so the camera, can’t see what’s on the screen but with no notes from producers or director he stays where he is and assumes it’s not a shot they’ll need.

Jake continues, “–inspirational speech–”

“That John Travolta?” Travis asks.

“–hands him back the friggen’ baseball bat, okay. And then watch.”

“We’re tryna make our own movie here,” says Travis.

“I understand, friend–” Jake says, and then, “SLOW CLAP! Right there!”

“Let’s go–”

“That’s the moment!”

“Let’s get it goin’ guys! Appreciate– I s– I see what you’re saying”

“Thereeeeee. Slow clap!”

TK is laughing.

“–I don’t think you understood what I was trying to do here.”

“I got it, the slow clap,” Travis says and starts slow clapping himself, “let’s get it going and then it speeds up, everyone’s goin’, but, Jake, no one’s here! Only we showed up for work today. And Carter Hart. And ‘en–” he gestures over to the side, “Simmer– we can’t– we can’t address you. It’s too soon. OKAY, we’re gonna add this to this” Nolan puts the camera on the fruit, “okay” Travis suddenly gasps, “oh no!” he picks up the bowl of lemons “did we ever weigh this? did I do that already? I’m losing my mind. Did I salt that twice? No. No, right? Okay.” 

He puts it back on the scale. 

“OH, it was three-hundred on the dot, ‘member, that’s the one I nailed? Three-hundred for the. Meyers. So, three-hundred, huh? What’s two– what’s two percent of three-hundred? _Slick._ Six? Point zero two… SIX! D’you know that? Hah. Me neither. Alright. See if we can get a six-gram pinch. ‘S good.” Travis then somehow manages to spill salt all over the place, almost completely missing the small bowl he was aiming for, and the finally knocks the bowl with his fingertip, spreading what little salt had actually made it into it. “Uh–oh, let’s try that again.” 

He doesn’t seem too bothered, he brushes away the salt from the scales and the surrounding countertop, clearing the shot a bit before Nolan or the producer asks him to. He’s wiggly but he keeps a clean station. The bowl is back on the now clean scales. 

“One more time. Gotta calibrate my pinch. Six-gram pinch, comin’ right up. Four–” He drops another pinch of salt into the awaiting bowl, a little messily but to more success than before, he looks at the display, adds more, takes a bit out, is satisfied, transfers the salt from one bowl to another. “Oh. Oh, Patty, there’s– you got– you got somethin’– somethin’ weird, is that– is that? Is that a smile? Are you smiling?” 

No reply seems like the best option, so that’s what Nolan goes with. Travis is being smug and insufferable about his own joke.

Not for the first time, Nolan wonders what it would take to get TK so stop talking. He’s always got some story to tell, or some joke, or a comment. Always trying to make you laugh or at least crack a smile, especially, it seems to Nolan, at the times when the last thing you’d want to do is smile or laugh. Nolan would love a mute button sometimes. You’d probably have to shove something in his mouth to shut him up. Like a sock. Or fingers. Or– Nolan realizes that this train of thought isn’t going to take him anywhere he wants to go while he’s at work, while he’s anywhere anyone can see him. He focuses his attention on the shot. Not thinking about putting fingers in Travis’ mouth. Definitely not his own. And absolutely nothing else of his either.

TK had had a girlfriend when he and Nolan first met, right when Nolan started working for Bon Appétit, and Nolan saw seen them kiss on several occasions. He hadn’t talked with a mouth on his. Travis and her, Nolan didn’t remember her name, had broken up a while ago now, but they’d gone out all together several times. Nolan had seen how Travis liked to have a hand on her thigh when they sat next to each other. Travis’d seen other girls since then, but none of them had been that serious, though not for lack of trying on TK’s part. For some reason, unfathomable to Nolan, Travis always seemed completely ready to commit himself. And most of them had been kind of petite, probably because Travis himself is a little shit. Standing next to a girl like that Travis almost looked normal. That’s how Nolan had phrased it to Travis that one time at some bar, which had earned him a surprisingly powerful punch in the arm. 

Nolan doesn’t know if Travis picks girls that are shorter than him on purpose because he likes being the taller one or if they pick him. That would be just as likely. Girls are always so weird about guys being taller, not that that has ever really been an issue for Nolan. Maybe Travis doesn’t care. Maybe he’d be fine going out with someone taller than him. Someone who made him look his height. Someone who would put their hand on his thigh.

Nolan blinks. Remembers the camera on his shoulder by its weight. Travis is talking. He’s doing something. 

“–and now we do a little tossy-toss. Check out the brains on Trav!” Travis says having made the genius move to use a second bowl as a lid for the bowl he’s tossing in. He gives the lemons a thorough shake. “What’s that? What movie’s that from, Slick–” He licks some salt or juice from a finger. “Oh,” he says when he realizes that Jake is no longer behind him, leaving Carter to shuffle about his business on his own. “You know the– never mind,” he says. He takes a moment to clear away the things he doesn’t need for the next step away, putting the excess bowls in the sink. He picks up a rag from the counter and wipes his wingers with it. “NOW,” he starts and he shuffled things around on the counter for no other reason than to shuffle them, “we can get ready to ferment. I’m gonna do– I love cardamom, BIG, big fan, I got these pods right here.” He picks one out of another tiny bowl just out of frame. “I’m gonna crush one. Boom. Aaaaand, we’ll add that to the Meyer lemon.” He crushes another. “We’ll add that to the kumquat. Get this outta here,” he says, referring to the big sieve that originally held the fruits, “put it on Danny’s station.” With the rag he wipes his board and his knife. “He’s on vacation, he’s on his twelfth vacation this year. It’s April. Must be nice, eh?”

“Didn’t you go to Hawaii?” a producer prompts.

“Oh, we were in Hawaii, I’m glad you asked, shootin’ some, just fantastic stories. Should be– by the time this one comes out, I think it could be out already. I don’t know. I have no idea about that stuff. Is it gonna be out? When is this going up? Do you know?” Travis asks a producer.

“Should be. The–”

“The– the Hawaii–”

“Yes, before this one.”

“Alright.”

“Right?” the producer asks the assistant producer.

The assistant producer pulls something up on their phone at lightning speed and confirms, “yes. Yes, Hawaii story’s going up first.”

“Nice, nice. Man, that trip, I’m so excited. Heh! I’m just remembering… so good. Right. Right! Citrus. Fermenting.” He straightens his back. “So I got this nice here little vacuum sealer. _I_ like to do a double seal on the ends here. This takes a little time, but it’s not bad. Cus I ‘on’t just trust one! We got too much on the line here. ‘S what we’re gonna do is we’re gonna make a little bag vacuum seal it _lightly_, not _crazy_ to crush it but suck the air out, and as it ferments, as fermentation does, it’s consuming,” Travis makes like his hands are pincers snipping, “little micro-organisms are consuming and they’re giving off– they’re giving off carbon dah–mah–carbon dioxide. Yeah. Carbon monoxide that’s the one that kills ya right? Well, they both can kill ya.” Idiot. “Either way! they’re giving off gases, and it’ll start to puff up the bag.” 

Shayne Gostisbehere enters from the other end of the kitchen, just behind Travis’ shoulder in the frame, and Travis noticed someone else noticing and turns.

“OH, hey, Ghost!”

“Hey, Travis.”

“Do you like Meyer lemons?” Travis asks him.

“No. They’re terrible.”

TK laughs, more like giggles, really, like this is the funniest thing that’s happened here today. It’s high pitched and silly. It’s pretty funny, Nolan will grant him, but it’s not _that_ funny. Whatever.

“–It’s like air freshener,” Ghost continues. “A lemonized version of air freshener.”  
“I knew it!” Smug bastard. “Everyone was like _who doesn’t like Meyer lemons?_ I go _I betcha Ghost doesn’t._”

“Also, like, Meyer lemons are so like, 1990s Bon Appétit. Like, 1996 Bon Appétit, every recipe had to have like, Meyer lemons and sun-dried tomatoes.”

“’96? Half the viewers weren’t even born yet.” And Nolan rolls his eyes because neither was Travis. Or Nolan himself for that matter.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Ghost says. “The readers were though.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

TK slipped his phone into his back pocket after using the calculator earlier and now he fishes it back out and opens the calculator again.

“2019. Oh shit. 2019 minus 1996. OH, twenty-three, yeah, yeah I betcha– 96! Jesus Christ.”

“I’m from ’98,” Nolan says.

“You were born in 98?” Travis asks with an incredulous sigh like he can’t believe what he is hearing. “You got a license to operate that camera?”

“You’re only one year older than me,” he doesn’t call TK a fucking idiot, but hopes his tone clearly implies it. He’s pretty sure TK picks that up.

TK says, “And what a difference a year makes, eh?” Idiot. 

“Can’t believe you needed a calculator for that,” Nolan shoots back.

“Hey!” Nolan feels weirdly like if he was a cat he’d be purring. Riling TK up like this is truly one of the most delicious things he knows.

“Boys,” a producer interjects to direct their attention back to the task at hand.

Travis is about to transfer the fruit from the bowls and into the bags. “Right, right. Now, it’s simple. We just put, our product, in the bag.” TK pauses to deliberate what the best way to do that is. Considers the tools at his disposal. Decides that the easiest way is just to hold the bag open and pour directly from the bowl. It mostly works. “Ah– you gotta watch me do this? _Yeah, it’s called a show, Trav. It’s what– it’s literally what we’re doing_. Okay. Here we go, here’s nothing.” He seals up the first bag with the lemons in it. “Boom. Up at the top here I’ll go for another double seal.” Again he mumbles something completely unintelligible, “–we’re gonna build up some pressure, un-an- I ‘on’t think’s gonna be poppin’ on me, y’know? Blowin’ a gasket. Boom, abr– air break shot shit boom right in the post office. Love the Trailer Park Boys.” Idiot. 

Nolan likes the Trailer Park Boys too, but he’s not making a fool of himself about it. 

“We gotta get the trailer boys! I kn– I know Hartzy’s got ‘em, he’s worked with ‘em. He’s American, though. So I don– don’t know how he even did that. They should come on here or– we could do like uh– like a, y’know. Fellow Canadians, and do– I ‘unno, do somethin’. Countrymen. Okay! ‘S do the blood oranges. These I’ll lay out nice and delicate, cus I think they’re gonna wanna really let that liquid out. Excited to see how these bad boys come out. _Bad Boy._”

“What’s the difference between a big boy and a bad boy?” a producer asks.

To Nolan’s surprise, Travis seems to really think about it before answering, “well, being big doesn’t necessarily make you bad. That’s the difference.”

And because once again, Nolan got a feeling that he just can’t swallow so he indulges it: “What about being small?”

“Huh?” Travis asks.

“What does being little make you?”

“Hey, Patty, do you wanna fight after this? Cus I’ll fight you,” they’ll probably have to cut this out too. Travis goes on, professional as ever. Or, well, as professional as Travis can manage. “A bad boy’s just bad. ‘S nasty. Like a junk-yard dog. Bad boy. There we go. Okay, uh, vacuum seal, hoop! And if you wanted to fool around, you wanted to put some crushed, you know, seedless red pepper flake in there, that’d probably be awesome, or like a cinnamon stick y’know what I mean, like, fool around, have some fun with it. This is just, an inspirational piece.”

Trying to maneuver salted kumquats into the vacuum bag, a few miss the bag’s opening and fall to the counter, and a Travis swears at them, “fuck, every time! One of ‘em. There’s always one y’know what I mean? There’s always one, man. Oh, _Marner!_” Nolan zooms out as Mitch Marner approaches the station looking cheerful. 

“Konecny.”

“You can’t use _my_–”

“You’re back in the saddle, man!” Mitch says excitedly.

“–_you’re_ the villain!”

“–alright, you’re the–”

“–like, _Marner_,” Travis says through gritted teeth, a growl befitting cartoon rivalries.

“No, you’re _my_ villain.” Nolan feels deeply justified in rolling his eyes as far back as he is physically able to.

“Okay, how’s that wor– what, we’re both– what’s that called, uh–”

“How about we both just be–”

“Can we just be buds?” TK suggests.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s be buds.”  
“Okay. We squashed it?” 

“We squashed the beef,” Mitch confirms.

“Aight, see? That’s love right there, nice–”

“What’re you up to, what’s going on?” Mitch asks as if he is only now realizing that Travis is in the middle of something.

“Just ferment– fermenting some ol’– some citrus– some Meyer lemons, kumquats, some, y’know,” Travis explains.

“Kumquats, sick–”

“Yeah, I’m eh– I’m excited. Alright, get outta here, Marner, we’re makin’ a movie here.”

“Right, right, see ya later.”

“See ya, bud.” 

And Mitch walks away, presumably to find someone else to chat to.

“Okay, where were we, right, alright, okay, I’m just gonna lay these out in the fermentation station on a sheet tray. If you wanted to speed this up you could lay it out on a sheet tray with like– with one a those seeding, heat mats under it, one a those you could like, sprout seeds from or like, folks put ‘em in their like, lizard– y’know, the lizard tanks. Where you keep your pet lizard or whatever. Lizards don’t like you, they– they just wish they were big enough to eat you. Anyway. No, we’ll come back in uh… I’ll let you know when to come back.” Big smile and thumbs up.

“Alright? We got it? Hell yeah, alright.”

–

The citrus circus continues ten days later. Travis has a pencil stuck in his black beanie. 

Nolan points the camera at Travis who as soon as he sees him puts his hands up, pretending to hold up a camera pointed at Nolan, making fun of him saying “action, little more energy please, thank you,” waving his hand like he’s encouraging him. Nolan’s holding on to the equipment with both hands but if he hadn’t been he would have flipped him off. Travis comes around to stand on the right side of his station, still facing Nolan and the camera.

“Kill the music, kill the fun,” Travis says with a mock-serious face on and snaps, “get over here!” Nolan, with a bit of guidance of an assistant producer, comes around to stand on the opposite side of the station from Travis. “Oh, no, not you,” Travis calls to someone who must have thought he was talking to them, Nolan comes around the station to his usual mark across from Travis. “–I was… yelling at Patty, Dear Boy!” Travis knocks on the counter and snaps again. “Okay! So we left off– should I put these back on the tray?” He’s already got the bags of fruit on the counter before the camera started rolling. “Alright, close your eyes. Close your eyes! Call your mother!” Travis plays up an accent, a stupid exaggeration of his own, “Oh, darlin’, call your mother. Call your mother!” He looks right into the camera and points a lecturing finger.

He brings the bags back to the fermentation station just to carry it back to the counter. Maybe they’ll cut it together so it looks like he only did it once. Candid and organic or whatever. Movie magic, et cetera. 

“Look at that, bud, huh? There’s ya little airplane pillow. So, who– when you fly to someone’s wedding– Ah! You got a gift for ‘em, it’ll be your travel–” he giggles at his own joke. “Oh no they probably won’t– definitely won’t– this is not getting through TSA. _But_ for fermentation station it’s what we call a success. We got our kumquats, that kinda looks like sun gold tomatoes. Our-our-our second leader up here with gas give-off if the Meyer lemons. And then we also did the blood oranges which fermented a little less but still pretty cool nonetheless. And then lastly, and certainly… they weren’t the sexiest limes to begin with, but these just didn’t really do much, they kinda got like, an ugly color. Might be a fail. BUT, you fail movin’– you fail FORWARD, or whatever the saying is, y’know, you learn from things. So les– let’s cut these bags open, and taste our-our fermented citrus. And then I’m gonna take some squid, I’m a– just a little salt and pepper, olive oil, grill it up, nice, crispy, and then we’ll slice that cold and make a little fermented kumquat-herb-squid-salad.” 

He looks around on the counter for something, doesn’t find it, goes to grab whatever it is, which turns out to be a small knife. “Just gonna give it a little relief pop, okay?” He does so. “Whop whop. Ooh, that smells fantastic.” 

Travis puts as much of his face as he can fit all the way into the goddamn bag. Takes a deep breath. He’s always so weird about smells. Always has to head his whole head in there.

“Ah, it smell– I mean, A, smells like citrus, like punch in the nose, but it has a little mild hint of like, little mild hint of alcohol to it as well.” Travis has poured the kumquats into a bowl and he picks one up to inspect. “And the texture, loses that like, bumpy kinda skin that kumquats or citrus tend to have and it looks smooth, it really does look like a gold grape tomato.” 

Nolan zooms in to get a close-up of Travis’ hands as he turns the little fruit in his fingers, looking it over. Travis’ nails are smooth and round. His skin is tan next to the bright color of the fruit, and it looks warm somehow, a little dry maybe. Idiot. Probably has never used a hand cream in his life. TK picks up his giant knife and slices the halves kumquat up so finely light could pass through it. The juice glistens in the bright studio lights and it gets on the tips of Travis’ fingers. It looks sticky. It’s probably sour and salty and sweet all at once. Nolan would probably have put his fingers in his mouth to clean them off if it was him. Nolan knows that’s bad kitchen etiquette. No licking fingers. That’s for the best probably. 

“Alright, I’m gonna have a taste,” Travis says, and then does. “Oh, that’s gonna be so good on fish– on squid. I wouldn’t even mind putting a little slice of that on a roll– _hoo_. Alright.” TK takes a piece of lemon and slices that up next, then has a taste. “Oh, that, minced up with a little yoghurt on some lamb, _WOO_.” He lists off a few other things that would pair up well with the lemon. To Travis’ credit, they all sound amazing. 

Travis is, undeniably, incredibly competent in a kitchen, despite how much he always talks about not learning anything in culinary school. To date, Travis has never cooked anything that Nolan didn’t like. “Onto the blood orange. I mean, b– blood oranges th– wow, they’re pretty though. 

He takes each piece out of the bag delicately. Holds one up flat on his fingers for a moment to show the camera and Nolan gets a close-up shot of it.

“Now the blood oranges are a little weird. Not quite sure what to do with ‘em yet. But the segment, look at that fruit, it kept some of those, those little juice sacs.” Nolan zooms in again as Travis pulls the segments of the fruit apart getting some of the dark pink juice on his skin. Travis considers for a moment. “I mean, it’s alright, I’m not as fired up about it, I’m not gonna throw it away, I’ll put it in a jar, figure something to do with it.” he clears the other bowls from his board, gets them out of frame. “And then Lastly, the ugly ducklings, the old limes.” 

TK cuts a corner off a piece to taste, puts it on his tongue and makes a face, “eh.” He shrugs. He goes over to wash his hands. Doesn’t lick the fruit juice off his fingers first. A waste. Travis talks while he rinses. “I think the thing with the limes is getting really– or anything, really, that you’re doin’, is getting really ripe ones. Those were _not._” He dries his hands, tosses the paper towel. “Like I said, I’ll pack ‘em– I’ll pack ‘em all into jars but, uh,” picks up bowls with kumquats and lemons, “but these two, by far, were just home runs. And _those_ were the ones that fermented the most, by gas give-off in the bag, so. Little interesting there.”

Nolan stays where he is as Travis wonders off to find a shallot. For once, he only takes a second. He returns. Peels the shallot. Takes a couple of pieces from the bowl of kumquats. A piece of the lemon which he cuts in half.

“Yeah, so, to finish this off, I’m gonna take… one… and a half of these kumquats, and just mince it up. If you– an you could do this in a mortar and pestle, really, you just wanna make a paste.” He minces. Chops at every angle, gathers it with the blade of his knife, minces some more. He adds one piece of the lemon and puts the other back. Minces that up too and mixes what is now, as he said, effectively a paste. “Then you just got a little shallot.” That gets the same treatment and is added to the glass bowl with the minced-up fruit. “‘S just gonna add a little extra virgin olly oil, yeah, a decent amount, that’s nice, like that,” drops the lid to the bottle, catches it against himself, “oh, good catch, you catch that? Oh! We’ll do a little black pepper.” 

He gets a fork to mix it up. 

“Oh, look how good that looks already, huh? Oh, what, do ya wanna put that over squid, well, you’re in luck! It’s cookin’ right here, folks is how I like cooking, y’know, you get inspired by what you’re doin’,” he tastes it, smacks his lips, adds some salt. “Pinch a salty-salt. What? _Recipes?_” Travis replies to a question from a producer that Nolan didn’t catch. “Every now and then, y’know, but, not too often, y’know. I can’t write. No,” TK giggles as he moves empty bowls away from the board and tidies the space up a bit, “no, that’s not true, I can. Script too, the cursive, they don’t do that no more, do they?” 

He takes a squid from the plate outside of the frame and lines it up to cut it. 

“Alright. Quit foolin’ around. I’m gonna slice up this squid. Love squid.” He slices it into rings, holds one up for Nolan to zoom in on, and tastes a piece, “Ugh! _So_ tender!” He turns, in his excitement, like he wants to call someone over to taste it, then doesn’t, turns back. “This is perfect, this is exactly– this is h– how– maybe _my_ favorite way to cook squid, like this, hot and fast, on the grill, who-boo-boom! And, as far as I know, one of the most sustainable creatures in the ocean. Cold, hot, fried. I’m like Bubba Gumbo, with, like, squid.” 

“What would your boat be called?” someone behind Nolan asks, as TK is slicing the rest of the squid.

“Ooh, the name of my– name of my squiddin’ boat? I don’t know, I’d have to really put some thought into that. I can’t just throw– I can’t just through that one out there without– without thinkin’ about it. Gotta put some thought into it.”

Travis takes a swig from the mason jar that has been sitting on the counter just inside the frame since they started. It has ice and herbs in it. It might be lemonade but Nolan honestly isn’t sure. Could be something much more adventurous too. He’ll have to ask after the shoot.

“It’s springtime here in New York, I’m gonna try and to a little squid fishin’. I mean, I’d love to make an episode out of it, but I dunno if we’re gonna be able to in time. We go at night. The lights– duh-duh-duh-doosh, lightin’ up the sea,” makes clicking sounds with his mouth, “jigging– pew-pew-pew-pew,” Travis babbles, and Nolan isn’t even sure those are supposed to be real words, “and you catch some nice ones.”

“What’s jigging?”

“_Jigging?_ It’s like the little bait where ya like,” he makes different sound effects. “Y’know,” more sound effects, these sound not too unlike Morse code “pff– little, y’know, jigging.” 

Nolan gathers from the sounds of the crew that none of them has ever gone jigging. Travis’ little demonstration is more accurate than one might suspect, but that’s hard to know if you’ve never tried it. 

Nolan grew up fishing, loves it, he’s tried jigging too a few times. He knows Travis fishes too, and has his whole life. Travis and Nolan talk about fishing a lot. Fishing is safe to talk about. Travis rarely says anything too weird when they talk about fishing. They’ve only every gone fishing together for work, and Nolan doesn’t think that really counts, since he’s not technically doing any fishing. 

They could go out on the lake sometime like Nolan likes and knows that TK does too. Nolan knows a lot about the kind of fishing TK has done and wants to do, and he can imagine how it might be boring to some people, because once Travis gets started on that he doesn’t shut up. He barely even pauses to breathe. Nolan doesn’t think it’s boring though. It’s pretty cool, he thinks, that they have that in common. In the city there aren’t that many people who are into fishing like that. It’s just nice to have someone to talk about stuff like that with. Travis hunts ducks too. Nolan has never been as big on hunting as Travis seems to be, but he doesn’t mind him talking about it.

“Alright, we’ll add that to our little vinaigrette,” Travis dumps the squid into the bowl, “and now add some herbs,” he takes the plastic wrap off of the bowl with the herbs, “we’re just gonna tear it with my little– with my little fingers here,” Nolan moves and zooms in to get a good shot of TK’s hands as he does so, “and this is just, fresh parsley, uh, cilantro, and mint. But you can use any herb you want. You got tarragon, you can use that, I like tarragon. And then we’ll just do a little tossy-toss.” He tosses it with his hand and lifts up the bow to smell it again. And again, he sticks his whole entire face in there, tip of his nose almost touching it. “Oh that smells good. Go ahead and take a look at _that_.” He puts the bowl in front of Nolan so he can get the money shot, “just, one sec– just little more– little bit more salt, little more, pepper. Alright. Perfect. Get that close-up shot, Patty, this is the stuff.” 

“Oh, Lawson!” TK exclaims to Lawson Crouse like he only just spotted him as he stalks to the other end of the kitchen. He leans against the countertop right in Lawson’s space. “Ya hungry, bud?”

Travis doesn’t mention the whole fermentation fiasco from earlier. He’s probably forgotten all about it.

“Actually I’m not–” 

TK sighs.

“–but if you want me to taste something…”

“Yeah! You wanna try something out?” Travis asks him in a voice that makes Nolan want to introduce him to his mother, it’s infuriating. If Nolan wasn’t holding expensive equipment he would leave the room. He keeps the camera on Travis as he shepherds Lawson back to the cooking station. 

“Wait, one– just a sec–” Travis bounces off to grab a plate, Nolan keeps the camera on Lawson as he inspects the contents of the mixing bowl.

“Just put it in a little… bowl for now” he says as he plates it.

“Oh, wow!” Lawson says excitedly, “you’re like plating it up. This looks nice–”

“I mean, y– the way you serve food is just a– a representation of how you feel and care about, the people that you’re feeding. So I wanted to plate it nice for you, because I– I care about you, Law.”

Lawson says, with a hand on his chest: “Aw, Trav. So sweet.” 

Nolan isn’t sure why but he suddenly feels a little bit sick. 

TK is mumbling something that Nolan absolutely does not catch a single word of. 

“That’s good food,” Lawson says. Travis didn’t give him a fork so he’s just using his fingers.

“Good eatin’?”

“You did a good job,” says Lawson and Travis lights up.

Both taste it again and both make approving sounds. It looks delicious. From the sound of it, it probably is too. And knowing Travis. Whatever.

“That’s so good,” Lawson says. He finishes chewing and swallows, “like, preserved lemon for me sometimes is hard, it kinda tastes like floor cleaner–”

“Right. Cleaning product, yup,” TK agrees.

“But this is like, much more…” eats some more, savoring it, “It’s lighter and more aromatic.”

“I w– I’m pretty happy with that!” Travis says. He leaning on the counter practically lying on it.

Lawson: “I’m _very_ happy with it”

“Right? You put that in your magazine.”

“–you should be proud of yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, bud.”

“Good boy,” Lawson says and pats TK’s shoulder.

“Yeah!”

“Good boy!”

“Thank you!” TK says, and does this freak thing like he’s a dog on Lawson’s shoulder and Lawson plays along and Nolan makes a mental note to make fun of TK for being a weirdo. 

TK giggles, then holds up his fork, “almost stabbed myself in the eye. Alright, that was great! Oh, you wanna try it by itself?” He gets piece of kumquat from a bowl out of frame and slices it up like he did before. “Little dab’ll do ya. And then you just pack ‘em in a jar.” He gets a jar from where he put it to get it out of the frame and holds it up to Lawson’s face. “I mean, smell that. I mean, come on.”

Lawson almost whispers, “that’s wild.”

“RIGHT?” TK puts the lid back on the jar and puts it away again. “How good is squid, right?” he asks then.

“So good,” Lawson says.

“I was tellin– I was telling this guy–” TK gestures to Nolan.

“It’s like the only thing we should be eating”

“That’s what I was saying, one a the most sustainable fish in the ocean”

_“Is it a fish?”_

“No, it’s not a fish, I just don’t know how to pronounce what they are called,” TK admits.

“Cephalopods?”

“You– that sounds right, that _does_ sound right. Ceph– cephalopods, you said? Yeah that sounds right,” Nolan makes mental note to make fun of him for this too. Travis absolutely does not know. Lawson could have said anything with conviction and Travis would probably have believed him. Well, that’s not actually true, Nolan is well aware. He’s still going to make fun of him for it later, though.

“Yeah,” Lawson says.

“Like octopus, and cuttlefish,”

“Yeah, all the cephies.”

TK is motioning with his hand like a cuttlefish swimming. 

“–easy to catch,” Lawson continues.

“And I feel like– easy to catch!” TK says. “Jig ‘em at night. And um, I feel like a lot of people don’t–”

“Jig ‘Em At Night: the Travis Konecny Story,” Lawson makes with his hands like he’s imagining it on a billboard.

“Ooh, that’d be the name of my boat,” Travis says.

“That’s good,” says Lawson.

“_Jig ‘Em At Night,_” Travis says again.

“_Jig ‘Em At Night_,” Lawson agrees.

“I like that,” TK laughs, “I like that a lot. Jig ‘Em At Night. Whaddaya think, Patty? Good name for a boat? A squiddin’ boat? I think it’s good. Alright, Lawson, thanks bud.”

“Thank you–”

“–thanks for swingin’ by.”

Lawson walks away.

TK big thumbs up to the camera. He grins. 

“You ‘kay there, bud?” he says. “You’re all pink.”

They keep the windows closed while filming for the sake of sound levels. It’s getting pretty hot in the room. Stuffy. That’s probably it.

TK takes a moment to check his phone and makes a face when he notices Nolan pointing the camera at him, catching him.

TK turns to the room with his arms raised above his head, and calls out; “Hey Hayesy, or Claude, or _anyone!_ You guys wanna try something really delicious–”

Someone replies with a “yeah!” but Nolan’s got the camera on Travis and doesn’t see who it is.

TK isn’t done “–that involves controlled rot? Claude, I _know_ you do”

“Controlled rot?” Carter Hart asks.

“Controlled rot,” TK confirms, “AKA fermentation. AKA flavor.”

“You’re really selling it with the rot,” Claude says as he comes over, Travis beckoning him enthusiastically. “It looks nice,” Claude says. “It looks like something Danny would make.”

“Why, cus it has herbs in it?” Travis asks. He hands Claude a fork.

Carter is coming over to peek over Claude’s should, and Claude is just about to take a bite when he pauses. “So, wait,” he asks, looking like he might be about to change his mind, “the… squid, is what’s rotting?” Claude is leaning over the bowl, eyeing it. Carter leaves to go back to his own work again.

TK shakes his head, “the kumquats.”

“Ohhh,” Claude says with renewed interest.

“So it’s a vinaigrette,” Travis explains, “with, um, fermented kumquat.”

Claude seems convinced. Travis goes to get him a fork. Claude tastes it, likes it.

“Grilled squid, cold,” TK says.

Claude makes a sound like he likes it.

“–delish!” TK says.

Claude waits until he’s done chewing before he gives his note. 

“I want it even colder–” he says.

“Oh, wow,”

“–you know what I mean?”

“Like ice cold–” TK says.

Claude nods, and says: “like seafood salad”

“–like cocktail cold” Travis says and Claude nods again. “I could get into that.”

“It’s really good, Travis”

“Yeah! You wanna try one by itself?”

Travis cuts up a piece like he did for Lawson earlier.

Claude takes a single thin slice and asks: “this is all I get?”

“You don’t really need more,” Travis says, “I mean– y– you can have more if you’d like. Oh wow,” he says when Claude pops a whole piece in his mouth.

“It’s like, I wanna make a vinaigrette outta this every day.”

“Exactly! Or like, even like, like a minyet. For an oyster or something.”

“Mignonette,” Claude corrects him.

“Is what I said–” says TK. Idiot.

“You said minyet.”

“Do I judge you, Claude?”

“I feel like yeah.”

“I cooked– I made you a snack–”

“I feel like you’re always judging me,” Claude says.

“That is not true at all! You can’t just say it cus it’s fun!”

“I’m just correcting you,”

“It’s true,” Travis says then, “I can’t pronounce things, it’s fine,” Nolan watches him. 

“A ‘rotissererie’ chicken,” Claude teases, a deep cut.

Nolan tries not to laugh. Fails. They’ll just have to cut this out in post.

Claude takes a last bite and smiles at the camera, with his mouth full, “MIGNONETTE,” he says, and walks out of frame.

TK sighs deeply and leans over the countertop and says, exasperated, to the countertop more than to any person, “_bye, Claude!_”

TK shakes his head like he cannot believe the way he is being treated.

“You’re supposed to be on my side, Pat, you traitor,” he says, scoffs, “ya can’t trust anyone anymore. Unbelievable.”

Nolan doesn’t say anything.

“Here I am toilin’ all day long and you’re having– you’re all making fun. The thanks you get!” 

Kevin Hayes returns to the kitchen after having gone somewhere and Travis perks up, bruised pride forgotten for now.

“Hayesy!”

“What?”

“I made you a snack!” TK calls.

“I was about to go and make my own salad,” Kevin says.

“Here’s a clean fork,” Travis says and hands him a fork that Nolan is pretty sure is the same one Claude just used.

“Oh! What d–” Kevin looks at it and scoffs, then he goes to get an actual clean fork.

He comes back and Travis gestures for him to go ahead. He puts a forkful in his mouth, nodding, tasting. “I would pay twenty-five dollars for a plate like this,” he says finally after a moment of consideration.

“Twenty-five?”

“Well,” Kevin says, “twenty.”

“Eh, alright,” Travis says.

“It’s good, Travis, really good.”

“Why, thank you, Hayesy. Means a lot.”

After Kevin has gone away to return to his own interrupted lunch plans, Travis looks around, probably for anyone who hasn’t tried the salad yet, doesn’t see anyone who isn’t either busy or has already tasted it. 

He turns to face Nolan and the camera, then the producers, “alright,” he says, seems to get the sign he was looking for to close out. 

“Great, I am super happy with this,” he considers what he wants to say for a short moment before he goes on, “such a balance, this is what I’m– this is a really nice dish, I would– I’m gonna make this dish again and, uh, man, I think– is just a real easy way to make, uh, a next-level kinda vin– vinaigrette or a sauce or… minionyette, or whatever he was s– minyet, as I like to say.” He tastes a little bit of the citrus on its own again, and Nolan can tell from the look on his face that his head is filling with ideas, “that’s be awesome with shrimp too.” 

Nolan loves seeing getting to see this part too. 

“_Or_, you know what’d be really good too? That little mixed up mash mixed into like a ceviche” Travis sucks in a breath “ooh, meow! Next time! I love seafood. I love fermenting things. And remember! Have fun doing it, okay, folks?” he smacks his lips “Bon Appétit.”

Travis takes one more bite. 

“Heh, ceviche, that’s Spanish, right? Ceviche. You speak any Spanish, Patty?” Travis comes around the station to the side Nolan is on, Nolan takes a step back, still pointing the camera at TK. “You can have some too,” he says to Nolan, “it’s quite nice. I’m so happy! It is a little salty. That was my fault, I fucked up, I’m gonna get you a fork.” 

He walks back around and gets him a fork, gives it a good look, “WHOA, I’mma keep that one,” he sticks it in his apron. Idiot. What’s a little workplace theft when you’re Travis Konecny. He gets another fork. 

“Alright. _Cut!_”

“Yeah!”

“Everyone good?”

“Faaaantastic,” Travis looks over at the producer, giving her another big thumbs up, “I feel good about this one,” he says. “Put that thing down, Patty, come over here and taste this, I wanna know what you think.”

**Author's Note:**

> PT theres only one installment in the series but i have plans to do AT LEAST two more so stay tunes
> 
> I spent more time on this than I would like to admit, I hope you enjoyed


End file.
